Fame Throwa
Scott Kannberg, Stephen Joseph Malkmus
Fame throwa pass out the gold, the diamond
Watch, the last reward, all the things we had
Before you sold us out and took it all
Head-borne cries from zenith sluts, astral
Rites from dead-end ruts
These kids are sick-end wars
"One of the nation's spies
One of our first recruits
Click with her leather thighs
One of our first recruits"
How can you know? In the distance lies
A grower, nee rode off, king fame throwa
Son of groupie, red-worn sexan, spent his
Cash convincing us that the desert was
A starscape and sold our lives for a
Satellite so we could cry
"Naked, naked foul"